


Let the Void Take It All

by withthebreezesblown



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthebreezesblown/pseuds/withthebreezesblown
Summary: A fill for the prompt, “Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say ‘to hell with it.’”A brief character study of Zevran, because, yeah, Alistair is my canon LI, but Zevran is complicated and wonderful, and I love him.





	Let the Void Take It All

He’s trying to feign interest in the girl giggling in his lap. It shouldn’t be difficult. It’s his specialty, after all, or a part of it. Whatever it takes to reel them in. Sometimes it’s disinterest, the challenge of the chase, the affront of not having their beauty affirmed as their vanity demands, but most are simpler, more straightforward. They want to be wanted. And he knows how to make them feel it, like they are the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s drawn to them like gravity, like the heat between them will burn away the memory of every lover that came before.

She’s even pretty. Not that he’s found it to matter particularly–those lacking beauty are not necessarily lacking other skills to make passing time with them pleasant. And pleasure–well, pleasure is something he never turns down.

But tonight… it does not interest him. The chatter filling the tavern around him is a blur. Where normally he would be listening in on the surrounding conversations, a sharp ear out for any information that might ever prove useful to him, tonight even the idea that the patrons at the table across the room could be plotting his imminent demise is not enough to draw any focus from him. Not even the brandy on the table before him holds any appeal.

It’s only chance that he notices Taliesen gesturing to the girl. She promptly shifts around in his lap until she’s straddling him and begins licking up his ear. He wonders idly if his cock were hard if she would fuck him right here in his chair, in front of everyone. He thinks vaguely that he ought to be excited by the idea, but he has no particular feelings about it one way or another.

It’s only when she pulls back to look at him, some filthy suggestion on her lips, that he understands why Taliesen has sent her to him, standing so suddenly the girl lands in a graceless heap on her ass.

The resemblance to Rinnala is more than passing.

He is not fleeing. It’s only that he needs air.

It’s spring, but the air outside is already hot and heavy and still. It does little to clear his mind.

The heat never used to bother him either, sleeping pressed between bodies on even the hottest summer nights, beads of sweat rolling across skin like a caress, legs tangled together. Lately, even alone, the heat is oppressive.

He thinks of the job currently open for bids at the House. He’s been to Ferelden once. It had been wretchedly cold, and suddenly that sounds like such a relief. A place surely too cold for thin-blooded Antivan ghosts to follow.

A fool’s thought, he knows. There’s only one place where ghosts won’t follow.

And that’s fine too. That can surely be found in Ferelden as well.

He will bid.

And with the decision the weight on him releases. He decides to go back in and finish his brandy. Perhaps he’ll even bring someone to bed with him tonight after all. Not the girl Taliesen had chosen, no, but maybe one of those pale-skinned, dark-haired Orlesian lovelies who can speak depravity in six languages.

Fuck it. Why not?


End file.
